Twice Casey thought he spotted the men, and buzzed museum security. The first time, a man with a cane came through the turnstile and a few minutes later a man with shaggy eyebrows that almost joined entered the museum foyer. When Casey pointed out the second man, the guard smiled. “That’s Dr. Foss, big-time palaeontologist from the University of Calgary.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Casey.
“Don’t be,” the guard told him. “Better to err on the side of caution.”
The second time, Casey was sure. Two men came through the turnstile one right after the other. The second man, who again had eyebrows exactly like those of the man Casey had seen and heard in the Hoodoo Hotel, stepped forward and put his right hand under the elbow of the first man, who was limping. Casey pressed the security buzzer. He nodded toward the men as two security guards appeared.
One guard approached the men: the other stood beside Casey’s table.
“It’s a rather difficult walk up these ramps,” Casey heard the first guard say to the two men. “We have wheelchairs available. Can I get you folks one?”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” the limping man said. “I broke my ankle a while ago and the darn thing still hurts a lot. You mind pushing me around, Bill?” he asked the other man.
“Not a bit, Wilf,” replied his companion. “But you’ll owe me big. One two-pound steak when we pass through Calgary tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
The first man eased himself into the wheelchair the guard had rolled up.
“Got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow, I take it,” Casey heard the guard ask.
“Nah,” said the seated man, “just to Cochrane. We run the garage across from the big ice-cream stand — get a lot of business from all the Calgarians who drive over there on weekends for ice cream.”
“That right?” said the guard. “I’ll have to drive down one of these days.”
“If you do, come see us,” Bill said, as he pushed the wheelchair along. “Our garage is called ‘The Brothers’; we’ll top off your tank for free.”
Casey reached down for his backpack; the oh-so-frustrating and humiliating day over at last. “Wouldn’t you know,” he said to himself, “The darn thing’s caught under my chair leg.” He got down on his hands and knees to unwind the strap. When it was freed Casey stood up. There was a long white envelope on his desk. They’ve fired me, he thought. I’ve wasted everyone’s time and the museum’s money, and they’ve fired me.
Sighing, he opened the middle drawer of his small desk and took out a letter opener. He could hear his father’s voice saying, “Never rip open an envelope; you might tear what’s inside or you might make it harder to read a mailing date or a name.”
Casey dutifully slid the edge of the letter opener under the flap, slit open the envelope, took out the paper inside, looked at it, and gasped.
Not a dismissal notice. It was a cheque. A cheque for his first month’s duties. A big cheque. Casey sat at the desk and laid the cheque on it. He saw Trevor sliding towards him and just got the cheque turned over in time.
“Stashing away your ill-gotten gains, I see,” Trevor made a lunge for the cheque but Casey caught his wrist and gave it a hard twist.
“Mind your own business, Trevor,” Casey said as he pocketed his cheque.
“If you’re getting more than me for just sitting around, I’m going to make an official complaint.”
“And if you don’t stop bugging me, I’m going to make a complaint.”
Trevor slunk off and Casey sat down.
“My money,” he whispered, no longer tired or bored or frustrated or humiliated: just happy. “I earned this. It’s all mine.”
He sat staring at the cheque. “Maybe I won’t cash it. Maybe I’ll frame it and look at it. Then again …” Into his mind flashed the imagine of a mountain bike he’d seen on the last walk he’d taken into downtown Drumheller. It was a flame red. It had all the bells and whistles. It had more gears than he’d ever seen. And, Casey thought to himself as he picked up the cheque and smiled a huge smile, I can afford it!